


Unfinished Business

by Luthe



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman Begins (2005)
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Flogging, M/M, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-15
Updated: 2012-09-15
Packaged: 2017-11-14 08:34:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/513322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthe/pseuds/Luthe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ducard has some unfinished business with Bruce Wayne.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unfinished Business

**Author's Note:**

> Pr0n for [](http://imadra-blue.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://imadra-blue.livejournal.com/)**imadra_blue** 's birthday. Total PWP.
> 
> [](http://temve.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://temve.livejournal.com/)**temve** is a goddess among women, and queen of B/D slashers. She is also an excellent beta.  
> 

It had started with a package delivered to his office via an anonymous remailer service. The package had contained nothing dangerous, and so it was passed on to Bruce by his secretary without a second thought.

Inside the package was a note. "I will be at the Ritz Gotham on the twentieth," it read. "Room 1138 at noon. Bring nothing but yourself. I will do the same." There was no signature.

Bruce moved to throw the package away, wondering just who would dare to send him such a thing. There was only one person he knew of with that amount self-confidence, and he was dead.

Or was he?

As Bruce tossed the package into the trash, a blue flower fell from beneath the note. He drew in a sharp breath. Only Ducard would have the means and the knowledge to send him one of those flowers. Which implied that Ducard was alive. Which was impossible.

Bruce wanted to destroy both the note and the flower, but his curiosity got the better of his rage. If the note was from Ducard, how had he survived the train wreck? And what did he want with Bruce?

It was a long week of waiting before Bruce could discover the answers. He did not trust Ducard (or whoever was pretending to be him) in the least, but he wasn't stupid. He limited himself to a few easily concealed toxins and antidotes when he went to confront the monster. And his hands, of course, but there was nothing Ducard could do to take that weapon away from him.

The Ritz was the same bastion of fussiness it was always was, and no one was surprised to see Bruce Wayne striding through the lobby on his way to a lunchtime assignation. He got an elevator car all to himself, and the eleventh floor was empty when it arrived. Bruce didn't doubt that there may have been members of the League watching him at that very moment, but he pretended not to care. He could have noted each and every guard had he wanted to, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was Ducard.

He didn't even have to knock on the door. It opened for him as he approached. He could see the familiar figure of Ducard smirking at him. He was wearing an untucked white oxford shirt and khakis, and his feet were bare. He looked like the picture of relaxation. "Bruce. How nice of you to come." Ducard's voice gave nothing away.

"Henri," Bruce said. "Was there any reason for this invitation?" He slipped into that state of relaxed alertness Ducard had taught him, preparing himself to react to any attack.

"Of course." Ducard seemed to notice Bruce's posture. "You needn't worry, Bruce. I keep my promises."

Bruce allowed himself to relax a fraction. "Would you mind telling me what it is you want?"

Ducard's face was neutral, but his eyes were amused. "Certainly. I would like to inform you that I shall be leaving Gotham in your capable hands for the moment. The League has business elsewhere. Business that it would benefit us both if you stayed out of."

Bruce could hear the veiled threat in Ducard's voice. "Are you proposing a truce, Henri?"

"Perhaps. Leave me be, and I will give you your city."

Bruce thought about this for a moment. The League's goal to cleanse the filth from the world disgusted him, but he could not afford another battle with Ducard so soon. Gotham had enough problems without the League creating more.

"Agreed."

Ducard smiled. "Good. Now, there was another bit of business I wished to conduct. I promised you long ago that if you were to best me, you could do as you pleased with me. I intend to make good on that promise."

Bruce's expression was one of deep skepticism. "Why here? Why now?"

"I always pay my debts, Bruce. Surely you know this."

Bruce though of burning houses and men left to die. "Yes."

"Then your questions are answered. There is a case of...accoutrements on the bed. I am at your mercy."

Bruce doubted this. Ducard would never let a situation pass out of his control. He decided to test Ducard's honesty. "Fine. Strip."

Ducard smiled slightly and nodded just the slightest fraction. He began removing his clothes without hesitation.

Bruce felt the slightest flicker of surprise. He was being obeyed. He wondered how long Ducard would continue to play the submissive. "Slower," Bruce growled.

There was only the smallest flicker of movement on Ducard's face in response. He slowed his hands where they were undoing the buttons of his shirt. Instead of the quick precision with which he had moved just a moment before, there was deliberate sloth. The slide of button through hole became sensuous, each parting of cloth a revelation. Ducard had foregone an undershirt, and with each button opened, more of his skin was exposed. Bruce almost lost himself in the display; Ducard had not typically revealed much of himself to Bruce before, either mentally or physically.

When the last button slid free, Ducard let the shirt flutter to the floor and pool behind him. His hands were just moving to undo his pants when Bruce spoke again. "Stop."

Ducard froze in place, muscles trained to stillness reacting instantly. Bruce stepped close enough to touch and fondled Ducard through his pants. He did not stop until he was certain Ducard was hard. He stopped and stepped back. "Continue. Don't touch your cock."

Ducard's eyes glittered a little, but he obeyed. The button on his pants popped audibly when Ducard undid it, and despite his best efforts to slow the zipper's progress, simple pressure caused it to open fairly quickly. Somehow, Bruce was not surprised to note that Ducard was not wearing underwear, either. His pants slid down his legs and pooled on the floor.

"Spread your legs." Bruce hadn't noticed, but by now his voice had dropped at least an octave. He sounded more like Batman than Bruce Wayne.

Ducard stepped out of his pants, spreading his legs like Bruce had ordered. Bruce circled him, appraising every plane and scar, every deadly inch of muscle and skin. There were only a few fresh scars, much to Bruce's surprise. Ducard, it seemed, had more lives than a cat. Bruce made sure his gaze was deliberate and slow, so Ducard would know the slight discomfort of a man being assessed. Ducard showed no sign that he did, even though he was being judged by a man half his age and his equal in strength. Bruce looked anyway, hoping for a reaction.

Finally, when he had drawn out the moment enough. Bruce moved to the case Ducard had left lying open on the bed. He removed a small contraption of leather and buckles with a feral smile.

"Don't move, Henri," he said, moving to face Ducard. He took Ducard's cock and balls in hand roughly and fastened the leather bindings around them, tightening them to a level that was most likely painful. Ducard didn't make a sound. Satisfied, Bruce began removing his own clothes.

It did not take Bruce long to strip. He didn't bother to make a show of it. Ducard had seen it all before, and besides, this was not about Ducard's pleasure. It was about Bruce's own.

"On your knees," Bruce ordered.

Ducard complied, but he had the gall to look up at Bruce in that vaguely infuriating way of his. "Trying to humiliate me, Bruce?"

"No. Merely giving you a taste of your own medicine."

A small smile touched Ducard's face. "And your cock, I see," he said, inclining his head toward Bruce's groin. The cock in question twitched a little.

Bruce moved forward at a speed that should not have been possible for a man in his state of arousal. He grabbed Ducard's head and forced Ducard's lips to meet his hardened flesh. "Yes. I'm sure you know what to do. No tricks."

Ducard didn't need tricks. He obviously was very good at sucking cock, despite his never having done so as far as Bruce knew. Of course, it was possible Ducard was experienced at it, but Bruce was more inclined to believe it was Ducard's innate knowledge of the human body and its reactions that gave him his skill. From the first moment Ducard's lips closed around his cock, Bruce's knees turned to jelly.

Slow, teasing licks. Just the slightest application of teeth along the underside. Tight suction. And most surprisingly, the ability to take most of Bruce into his mouth. Ducard was a wonder. It was not long before Bruce was hovering on the brink, struggling to remain standing.

The firm press of a knuckle just behind his balls was what pushed Bruce over the edge. Ducard's finger was large and strong, and applied delicious external pressure on Bruce's prostate. He came with a yell, hips fucking Ducard's mouth of their own accord while Ducard swallowed greedily.

When he returned to his senses, Bruce found Ducard licking his lips like a satisfied cat after a bowl of cream. "Now what, Mr. Wayne?" There was an irritating edge of smug assumption in Ducard's voice. It niggled at Bruce, even as his body continued to float in the bliss that followed an orgasm.

"On the bed. Face down." Bruce's voice was steel, even if his muscles were rubber.

Ducard complied with fluid grace. "How do you want me?" he asked lightly, sounding as if he were in a fine restaurant, asking Bruce to pass the salt.

"Arms above your head. Tuck your knees under you." Bruce rummaged through Ducard's case again, removing a pair of handcuffs and a set of belt-length leather restraints.

The handcuffs secured Ducard's wrists to the headboard, the chain passing between the slats. The restraints were wrapped around Ducard's legs, preventing him from moving from his kneeling position.

"I told you I would behave," Ducard said as Bruce tied a silk blindfold around his eyes.

"Yes," Bruce allowed. "I think I'll have a nap," he said, and proceeded to drop into a nearby chair and closed his eyes. He listened for a few moments, but there was no sound from the bed. Satisfied that Ducard was safely immobile, he allowed himself to drift off to sleep.

Half an hour later, Bruce awoke and stretched. Ducard seemed as relaxed as his restraints would allow. Bruce knew that was an illusion, but he took advantage of it anyway. A stinging swat to Ducard's ass resulted in Ducard jerking against his bonds.

"I'd wished for this, you know," Bruce said conversationally as he delivered another blow. "Not that it will have any effect, but it does give me the satisfaction of punishing you."

The next blow was the hardest yet, and Bruce smirked slightly as the skin he had hit pinked nicely. He applied another hit to the same spot, and was rewarded with a slight jerk of Ducard's hips. He tried again and got the same result.

"Not as much of a sadist as you would have us believe, Henri?" Bruce landed another three swats in quick succession. Ducard made the smallest of whimpering noises.

"Interesting," Bruce said. He was getting hard from watching Ducard like this, utterly at his mercy. The fact that Ducard apparently enjoyed pain was even more arousing, considering the number of times he had seen Ducard savor Bruce's own pain. It was almost a form of revenge to do this.

Bruce went and looked in Ducard's case again. Most of the instruments were unsuited for his purpose, but there were a few that appealing to him. He picked them up and moved back to the bed.

The deerskin flogger was put to immediate use. The slight catch of Ducard's breath when Bruce applied the first stroke was music to Bruce's ears. He swung again and watched Ducard's muscles twitch as the strands of the flogger connected with his skin. Deerskin was not heavy enough to leave marks, but the sting of it was intense.

Bruce kept applying strokes to Ducard's back and ass until he teased a low groan out of Ducard. And then he changed his tactics.

With one deft swing, he applied the flogger to Ducard's cock. Bruce knew from experience just how sensitive a cock became if it was trapped in a cock ring for any length of time, so Ducard's quiet moan was no surprise. Neither was the slight forward roll of Ducard's hips. He **did** enjoy pain, Bruce thought, and then applied the flogger again, striking both cock and balls. Ducard's hips twitched again. Bruce kept up the stinging torment for a few more minutes, enjoying every small noise Ducard made before stopping. Then he reached for the other item he had taken from Ducard's case.

The lube was just a little chilly, which was actually a good thing. It took the edge off of Bruce's arousal as he spread it on his cock. Ducard's head moved slightly, a hunting hound scenting the wind, as Bruce climbed on the bed.

Bruce took Ducard's ass in his hands, spread it wide, and thrust in without even a thought for preparation. Ducard was incredibly tight around him, and Bruce could swear he heard a strangled whimper emerge from Ducard's throat. He set a bruising pace, moving with very little concern for Ducard's pleasure. He was merely using Ducard, the way Ducard had intended to use him. Still, the slight gasps emerging from Ducard indicated that his efforts were not totally unpleasant.

It didn't take long for the heat and tightness of Ducard's ass to overwhelm him. Bruce came with a harsh thrust, pumping himself into Ducard. He kept moving until his cock softened, drawing out the fuck. He took a moment to rest before he withdrew from Ducard, his cock slipping out with ease now that Ducard was full of come.

"Desperate yet, Henri?" Bruce asked, running a finger lightly over Ducard's swollen cock. Ducard jerked involuntarily at the touch.

"Never, Bruce," Ducard ground out. "But I would appreciate it if you would finish with me. I have-" a hiss of breath as Bruce tugged roughly on his balls "-other business to attend to."

"Of course," Bruce said pleasantly. He knew that was as close to a confession as he would get from Ducard, at least in this time and place. He released the handcuffs binding Ducard to the bed, flipped him so that he was facing Bruce, and released the harness on Ducard's cock and balls. They were still flushed even darker than usual in the places the flogger had struck. Two quick jerks of Bruce's hand, and Ducard's whole body shook in orgasm.

"Well?" Bruce asked when the tremors had stopped. Ducard's whole torso was streaked with semen, and his face was still transfixed by pleasure.

Ducard opened his eyes and said nothing. He merely undid the restraints binding his legs.

Bruce lay back on the bed and waited. He had learned the art of the long silence from Ducard himself. Ducard stood and turned away from Bruce.

"It's just as I expected," Ducard said as he walked to the bathroom, Bruce's semen trickling down his thigh. "You fuck like the Bat."

There was nothing Bruce could say to that.


End file.
